


In Trutina

by oceanslimes



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: F/M, My First Smut, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanslimes/pseuds/oceanslimes
Summary: Erik and Christine act on some pent-up tension. Not a missing scene, merely a stand-alone, smutty "what-if".(based on POTO 1990)
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	In Trutina

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, folks. I have written some smut before this, but I've never had the courage to share any of it online, so this is, in fact, my first ever publicly posted smut. As it is, I've been a quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) phan for many years and have enjoyed reading all of the amazing fic that phans have produced so much that I didn't feel called to contribute anything new. This just sort of....happened? I was seized by the muse of smut, if you will, and this is the result. 
> 
> There's a little romance and a little characterization here, so I don't know that I'd totally call it PWP? But there's certainly no real plot, if that helps anyone. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope it's good house-bound reading. Thanks for taking a look!
> 
> (edit) 
> 
> I thought I'd include a link to the song I named this after. If you haven't had a chance to actually listen to and read the translations of Carmina Burana, I absolutely commend that to you. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QAsjemjEtqk

They met as usual, after the opera’s close of business, when the myriad of hallways were blissfully quiet and emptying out for the night. Christine didn’t really need the lessons anymore , E rik knew .  He’d personally informed Christine of that fact some weeks before. He suspected that her attachment to his company was largely due to a lack of available companionship more than any earnest friendship that had formed between them. At first, he wondered if continuing to see her was more of a mistake than simply cutting her free and vanishing from her life. However, refusing her the small joy of creating music together seemed almost cruel, and Erik’s own sense of selfish delight in her presence made any true separation from her impossible. 

As any gentleman should, he tried not to watch her too closely. Not to stand too closely. Not to touch, even under friendly invitation. 

It was difficult, when she found so many ways to move closer; to test boundaries . S he’d stand behind him to read music over his shoulder, close enough for him to hear her every stirring movement, to hear every beautiful breath that filled every silence. Her voice was enough to save him from impure thoughts, most of the time, as a voice pulled straight from the heavens that motivated no earthly appetites. But he wasn’t entirely immune to his independent human cravings. 

Christine arrived quite on time at the studio that night, calling for him in her familiar , soft-spoken way.

“Maestro?”

“Here, Christine.”

He stood by the side of the piano, controlling the tremor of his hands with all of his might. The first sight of her often treated him that way, shaking him from within like a great chill.

“How are you keeping this evening?” He asked, watching her cross the room to meet him. Christine fiddled with her hands, as was her way when she felt uncomfortable. 

“Well enough,” she answered, avoiding direct eye contact with him.  As she came nearer, Erik felt a desire to run around the other side of the piano, where he belonged, but he fought it long enough to maintain the illusion of ease.

“Very good.”

Christine stopped at the piano’s edge, a fair distance away , out of propriety. She looked up at Erik uneasily, rife with embarrassment. 

“The other night, when you warned me about le Comte...I should have listened to you.”

A feeling of small triumph struck him, but Christine seemed hurt by the sting of that truth, and his secret happiness was smothered under the weight of her disappointment. He paced away from her, to his place at the keyboard. Erik avoided meeting her glance, pretending to investigate the black keys in front of him for damage from careless accompanists.

“I am sorry to hear it. What happened?”

He  wasn’t . Not really.

“I’m just…very grateful to you for saying so. You always look after me.”

Christine stood against the curve of the instrument, hands resting lightly on the piano lid’s shining surface. He made the mistake of raising his eyes to meet hers and he saw, reflected in a strange light, a curiosity that he’d both hoped desperately to see there in all its unfamiliarity and availability and never see at all. Erik swallowed and returned his attention to the keys, convinced he had created some fiction in his relief that le Comte was no longer vying for Christine’s affections. Erik had been no real competition to him, in honesty, but de Chagny’s departure was recognized happily nonetheless. 

“He’s been wonderful, but he’s worried about his family. Philippe can’t seem to get past the ways his life might have to change with me as a part of it .”

Christine looked down at her hands, drawing into herself as she spoke. Erik could see that she was uncomfortable by the pinch of her shoulders, which he’d worked very hard to help train out of her posture. 

“I know he’s right and I can’t bear to be a burden on him,” she said, shrugging slightly. Erik suppressed his frustration, keeping his voice even and cool as he answered her. De Chagny’s class-concerned remarks had taken away so much of her carefully built confidence, which was, in Erik’s eyes, unforgivable. 

“He is only concerned with earthly things, Christine. It makes no difference to him whether you’re good and honest if you aren’t from a certain bloodline.”

“You really think I’m good and honest?”

Christine stepped towards him, stopping near enough to his seat that reaching out to touch her would be no challenge at all. Erik found himself praying to a god he didn’t believe in as he turned and glanced up at Christine’s beautifully pink face, flushed in pleasure at his flattery. He noticed, in the way that he took details of her appearance to heart, that her day dress was blue. It was likely something new that her costumer’s wages had afforded her, as she hadn’t the need to pay for lodging.

“Of course. I think very highly of you. You know that,” Erik answered. Christine smiled as if receiving a pedestrian compliment, seeming not to register the gravity of his remark. Erik thought higher of no one else, but Christine had no reason to take her distinction to him so seriously. She watched him wordlessly for a few moments before speaking again, clearly in pursuit of some chain of thought. 

“Before, when we met, you specified that you hoped to remain anonymous for our lessons.”

“So I did,” Erik replied, troubled by the direction of Christine’s interes t.

“I ’ve been thinking…” Christine began, “We are friends, aren’t we? Isn’t it strange that we are friends and I’ve never seen what you look like?” 

Erik sighed, disappointed at the crippling reminder of their reality. “You’ve seen me. You see me now,” he said, hoping to appease her, though he knew it wasn’t enough. 

Christine leaned against the piano’s edge . “I would like to see your face, now that we merely speak as friends.” 

Erik shook his head . “You misunderstand my reason for keeping my face hidden. I am your friend, but I truly cannot expose my face to you. Please understand me.” 

“I understand. Really, I do.”

She leaned over further, brushing her fingertips against the keys. She did not touch him, but he could, appallingly, smell the lye she’d washed her hair with earlier that week. He could nearly feel the heat of her shoulder, so close to touching his own. This was the most courage she’d displayed in all of the time they’d known each other, though to Christine it seemed to be nothing more than innocent play. 

“Could I not have a single one of your secrets just for my own keeping? You know that you can trust me. I have not told a soul about you, as you requested.”

Erik opened his mouth to speak but found no proper way to respond. Christine did not understand how her sweet prying appealed to his loneliness. She did not know how easily he could confide all in her and how swiftly it would part them as she discovered his grotesque true nature. Erik trusted Christine not to betray him, but he did not trust himself to do the same.

“You cannot have one of mine, but I can tell you one of your own,” he finally said, hoping he came off as playful rather than defensive. Christine played a little melody with her right hand, plunking out a few notes he recognized from a piece she played in her free time outside of their practices, blissfully unaware of his internal conflict.

“Go on, then ,” s he said.

Erik held his hands perfectly still against the keys as she glided closer and further away from the possibility of touch, happy to be nearby without crossing the line.

“I know that there is nothing you hate more than brushing your own hair.”

Erik half expected Christine to react in fear at the implication that he may have watched her brushing at her hair some night, which he had, but she instead seemed to warm at the informality of his assertion.

“Does anyone really like brushing their own hair?”

Before he could stop himself, Erik murmured softly back to her, leaning towards her ear.

“I would do it for you, if you truly hate it so much.”

Christine blushed deeply and laughed, scandalized, but pleased . He wished her delight had come of its own accord and not been lured out by his offerings of service, but it was difficult to shut himself back up once he’d opened to her that way. Erik pulled away from her and stood, hoping that his arousal wasn’t evident enough to notice in the low lighting of the studio, keen to restore order and end the tension. 

“Is there some particular piece that you hoped to practice together this evening ? Perhaps another look at the aria from  _ La reine de Saba _ ?”

Christine seemed offended by his departure, looking up at him from her bent position, dumbfounded at his sudden coldness. Erik knew that he was shocked at his own unforgivable forwardness, not truly upset with her, but he was struck by the feeling of punishing her by withdrawing himself. The frustration of knowing she would never view him as a lover, never touch him with real romantic love in her heart, made her attentions too painful to endure and he hadn’t the strength to continue to entertain her. 

“Oh, I…I’m sorry,” she said, straightening up, adjusting her dress as if she’d somehow skewed her modesty even in her innocent flirtation, “I thought that it might be nice to talk a little, as friends.”

Erik kept quiet, evenly watching her scramble to cover her steps in humiliation.

“You always say such lovely things and I thought…” Christine paused as if she expected him to cut her off and speak again to reassure her, but he did not. She touched a hand to her cheek as if it might take away the coloring there and conceal her shame. 

“I don’t know what I thought. Maestro, I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

Erik’s heart leapt at her  contrition . She was, as he’d said, so very good, and concerned by his discomfort, as any good friend ought to be. 

“You haven’t offended me at all, Christine.” 

He kept his distance from her, though he longed to reach out for her and create some sort of grounding contact between them . “I don’t mean to be presumptuous or untoward, but I am afraid I might…spin some misunderstanding of your intentions.”

Christine bit at her lip, flushing it red.

“My intentions?”

Horrified at himself for even speaking the phrase aloud, Erik took a few even breaths as he prepared his next words. 

“Pay me no mind ; let us get on to the music.” 

“Perhaps I should go,” Christine said, but she did not move. Erik felt pressed to offer a certain response to her, though he could not decide whether sending her off would earn her respect more than asking her to stay.

He settled halfway : “You may go, if you that’s what you want.” 

Christine considered it for a short and terribly silent moment. She stepped toward him slowly, as if approaching an easily startled animal, which he supposed he was. 

“Is that what you want?”

She stopped just in front of him, searching for something in his eyes that he knew he wasn’t hiding from her effectively enough. 

“No,” Erik answered her, “It isn’t.”

“You smell of pine and wax,” she said quietly, in a whisper, as if it were a secret between the two of them. Erik felt , more than consciously chose , to softly touch her fingers, thrilled at the realization that he’d left his gloves on the other side of the piano to free his hands up for clear playing.

“I have never seen a pine tree before ,”  Erik responded in the same whisper, pleasantly surprised as Christine caressed his other hand with her own in reciprocation.

“They’re very tall ,”  Christine murmured back, leaning towards him. He struggled to make sense of her expression, seeing reflected in her eyes a great mire of desire, fear, and concern. It became clear, the longer that they stood so closely, their hands linked, that Christine expected something more. 

Erik had touched a woman before. Women, in fact. He was no stranger to the sensation of a kiss, though he could not recall his last face-to-face contact.  Even still, s omething about the unknown territory of feeling Christine’s breath against his face, about her sudden forwardness and need for romantic attention frightened him. Erik knew that, should he give in and truly kiss her, she might discover how badly he wanted her. She had the potential to discover, in gory, hideous detail, exactly how deeply the vein of his lust for her ran. Erik, however, feared the prospect of connecting with her in such a way only once in his lifetime even more. The opportunity would not present itself again, that much seemed clear, and Erik wondered if it was worth simply asking her what she expected from him. 

He lowered his head and Christine raised herself on her toes to kiss him. There was nothing of particular magic about the kiss itself, but the act of allowing him to touch her that way at all instilled a headiness  in him . He cradled her face, feeling with delicious joy the heat of her skin against his palms. Christine’s hands drifted up to his chest, fastening gently around the lapels of his coat. They broke from each other briefly to allow their minds time to catch up with them, but Christine did not release him or extract herself in sudden realization of the mistake she’d made, as Erik thought she might. She studied his eyes, leaning into him with comfort and ease, as if they’d stood together that way before many times. Erik firmly held her face between his hands, part of him afraid that if he released her, she might disappear. His thumbs pulled across the arcs of her cheeks, cherishing the delicacy of her features. 

A nervous look crossed Christine’s face and she stepped back from him, slowly and deliberately sinking to the piano bench, keeping her eyes locked on his own. She didn’t speak, but Erik understood that he was being issued an invitation to follow her. He sank down and knelt at her feet. 

“Are you certain that I cannot look at your face?” She asked.

Erik, touched by the earnestness of her interest, softened his voice as he answered her, “I can blow out all of the candles.”

Christine smiled, entertained, but still nervous, too. 

“If you blow out all of the candles, I won’t be able to see you at all.” She shifted forward on the piano seat, each breath brushing her chest against his . “I want to see you.” 

“You’re not…ill?”

It w as all Erik could make himself say in response, pretending to feel her face for fever as an excuse to touch her once again. She shifted her hips closer to him, threatening to press herself against his lower stomach.

“I don’t think so.”

Erik nodded, retracting his hand in the hollow imitation of propriety. Christine touched him instead, exploring his unmasked features with a featherlight touch. She angled his chin forward with her fingertips, taking special care not to touch his mask. Something in the intimacy of her respect for his privacy drove him forward, to her lips, across her cheek, finally tasting her pulse at her throat. He pulled her toward him by her hips, the piano bench threatening to tip over from the force of it. 

Christine gently rutted herself against him in response, making quick work of his coat and fumbling anxiously with his waistcoat. In some strange, otherworldly twist of fate, she wanted him. Erik had not believed, in  this lifetime at the least, that he could have persuaded Christine to ever let him kiss her fingers, let alone open her legs to him so willingly. There was something both sacred and sacrilegious about their coming together, in the space where they’d spent months making music for joy and love, and not for selfish gain. The carnal craving was nothing God could have his hand in, but the impossibility of the circumstance felt nothing short of a holy miracle. 

Erik reached low, for her ankles, obscured beneath the hem of her dress. They were both shaking, afraid of making wrong moves and of the dissolving boundaries of their changing relationship, though it did not stop them. He made gentle contact with the slope of her calves, sliding his hands up, to touch the back of her knees, under the hem of her pantaloons. Christine uttered a glorious , small sound of pleasure, gathering her skirt under her fingers to accommodate his exploration. Erik watched her closely, his heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing.

“Your hands are cold,” Christine said, visibly untroubled by the awkwardness of such an observation, “are you nervous?” 

“Not nervous as such, no, merely anxious,” Erik answered, sliding his hands over her knees, onto her bare thighs. “I didn’t think this would happen.” 

Christine nodded, shivering at the change of his touch . “Neither did I.” 

“It needn’t go farther, you know , ” Erik sighed, touching his forehead to hers, knowing that she would use his offer as an escape from the difficult position they’d settled into.

Christine kissed him soundly before responding, “I’d be very disappointed if you left me now.” 

“May I touch you?” Erik asked, reaching for the edge of her undergarments carefully. Christine’s face flushed crimson and she laughed nervously. 

“Please, let me touch you ,” h e said, slowly undoing the ribbon that held her pantaloons in place. Christine squirmed and then nodded, lifting her hips to let him slide the undergarments down her legs and discard them.

For a few silent moments, Erik did nothing at all but kneel between her knees, enraptured, and Christine threaded her fingers through his hair.“I want you to touch me,” she said. 

He slid his hands back over the length of her legs, taking her skirt s with them as  he went. Christine let him gently part her thighs, resting her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. She had stopped shaking, but Erik could tell that she was still unmoored in the newness of it all. He took his time working toward her opening, fearing that any sudden move might sour her on the experience. Christine took him by the wrist and guided him closer, pressing his hand against her wet heat, once she’d grown impatient. She moaned her assent, sliding her hips against his fingers as they brushed across her clit. Erik, struggling to suppress his own carnal appetite, pulled his hand away suddenly, earning him a disappointed whimper from Christine.

He stripped away his shirt like an afterthought, uninterested in keeping her waiting. The only trouble was the mask. Erik wouldn’t be able to accomplish his task with it on, or at least, not to his fullest capability. He glanced up at the candles, still lit behind Christine’s shoulder, and she seemed to read his mind, twisting feverishly to blow them all out. When he was certain it was dark enough that Christine could not make out any of his distinguishing features  – or lack thereof – Erik released the ties, pulling his mask away.

“I hope it’s alright that I can still see your eyes ,”  Christine mumbled, parting her legs further. 

“Of course ,” Erik replied in the tenderest voice he could manage, holding her gaze as he lowered himself between her thighs.

He first kissed the softness of her labia, light as air, lasting less than a moment. Women who had never received oral sex were not accustomed to the feeling, in Erik’s limited experience, and he hoped not to rush her into it. Christine gasped like the air had been driven from her lungs. He bent his head and licked a long, slow stripe along her seam, careful to linger where she was most swollen before pulling away again. She cried out in surprise, snapping her hips forward unconsciously. Erik was sure to hold her hips firmly before returning to his happy work, planting his mouth against her entrance to minimize the cold touch of the studio air. 

After giving her time to adjust, Erik slid a finger along her opening, pressing at the slick tightness. He gently stimulated her clit and Christine arched into his face, reaching between her legs to take hold of his hand and plunge his finger into her. His erection strained painfully against his trousers and his hips moved against the air, searching for relief. She was tight, but Erik recognized from the ease with which she thrust back against him that she  had , at some time or another, tried to fill that ache with her own fingers. The thought of Christine touching herself, imagining his fingers in place of her own, was powerful enough that he temporarily lost himself in it, licking at her with both intense pressure and speed. Christine pulled at his hair with one hot, sweating hand, covering her mouth with the other for modesty’s sake,  which was something Erik found both baffling and further arousing. She’d already made enough noise to be heard down the hall, if anyone was listening.

Erik retracted his finger and pushed his tongue inside of her in its place, moaning at the very taste of her arousal. He wanted her open. She would never let him truly fuck her, of course, but nonetheless, the very active animal that had taken over his thoughts wanted her open anyway. Christine leaned back against the keyboard as she drew closer to her release, the keys chiming discordantly against her elbows. Erik looked up at her to see for himself and found that she’d unbuttoned the front of the dress and partially unhooked her corset. A sliver of her skin was exposed down to where her sternum ended, and over-top her corset, Erik reached for her right breast. The few women he’d tried such an act on seemed to enjoy it, though Christine had little reaction. It was more for his own pleasure, ultimately, as her heart fluttered against his hand. Christine took her hand away from her mouth, interlacing their fingers against her stomach instead, moaning louder at the simple intimacy of the act.

She raised her legs, resting her thighs over his shoulders, and tilted her head back, gasping and shuddering. Erik felt her walls spasm around his tongue and, unable to take it any longer, freed himself from his trousers. He stroked himself through her orgasm, for the few beautiful seconds that it lasted. Christine rested against the piano, a hand drawn up to her chest as if it could steady her speeding pulse.

“My god ,”  Christine said quietly, almost too low for Erik to hear against his own heavy breaths.

Christine straightened slightly to look him in the eye as best she could, despite the darkness. Erik could see her as clear as day, flushed and beautiful, and though he wished she could see him too, he was far more relieved that she could not. She groped for his shoulders in the dark, and Erik, out of instinct, moved away from her roaming hands, lest she miss and make contact with his face instead. Christine sighed, “Come back,” and he relented, guiding her hands himself, landing them squarely on his shoulders. She pushed him down onto his back against the chill of the studio’s wood floor, where she straddled his hips. Her wet, throbbing entrance pressed against him. She seemed to tower above him like an angel, her hair falling out of her neat bun in untidy waves.

Christine ran her hands down his shoulders and over his arms, feeling her way across to his chest. “You’re warm,” she whispered to him. Erik smiled at the simplicity of the comment, thrilled by the smoothness of her hands whispering across his skin. Christine seemed to falter after some time exploring the soft part of his lower stomach, “I’ve never touched anyone like this before ,” she said, by way of explanation. 

“I wouldn’t care at all if you had ,” h e answered, hoping that his voice communicated his earnestness. It didn’t matter to him if she’d been with others before: she’d become his, even if only temporarily. Christine reached for his face and he caught her hand part-way, guiding it safely to his jawline. 

“I want to take you inside of me ,”  Christine said, grinding her self  against him. Erik drove his own skull painfully against the floor as he arched back to meet her. 

“No, you shouldn’t ,” h e said, and she shakily took hold of him, stroking him up to the head and back to the base of his cock again, spreading pre-come as she went. Erik watched her squeeze his head between her fingers and he hissed through his teeth at the blinding pleasure of it.

Christine lifted her hips to glide the tip of his cock against herself. She took his head well, her entrance sucking him in slowly. Erik wound his arms around her as she bent over him to work through taking the rest, gratified as she let him kiss her again, even after she’d come all over his face.

“Move slowly and if it hurts you, stop ,” h e whispered to her in encouragement, suddenly reminded of their lessons in the months preceding this encounter. He would not, under most circumstances, deign to enter a woman without some source of protection to keep her from bearing a monster to life in his image, but the thought was kept at bay by every other aspect of their coupling as it unfolded. The pure joy of making himself one with her, at long last, divorced from him any other sense.

Christine lowered herself atop his length, pausing from time to time to start over entirely and adjust herself. Erik made himself useful by running his hands down the smooth planes of her arms and her sides, whispering further encouragements to her.

“Try to breathe. Slower. You’re so very beautiful.”

She finally rested flat against him, his cock buried inside of her and nearly glowing like a light with the pleasure of it. Christine impatiently slipped her arms out of her day dress and discarded her corset, exposing herself down to the end of her belly. Erik pulled her closer to his chest, forcing her to lay on top of him, and Christine moaned at the naked contact. He smoothed the hair away from her face so he could see her clearly, kissing her again as he began to grind his hips slowly against her.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, watching her face very carefully as he moved within her. Christine rocked gently, sinking back towards her heels to take more of him.

“No ,” s he answered, her muscles pulsing around him as if on cue. Erik groaned at the sweet pressure, thrusting up into her with slightly more force. Christine rested her arms on either side of his head and he tilted his chin far enough up to press a kiss to the bare space of her chest between her breasts. It was all utterly surreal. To feel her clenched around him like a vice, to know the scent of the skin that protected her most precious heart, to wind his fingers into her hair.

E rik gained a little speed, moaning into her shoulder. Her arms closed in around him as she ground her clit against him in return. Christine bit down a cry near his ear as she came again and Erik treasured her labored breathing, loud and rewarding.

As disappointing as it was, Erik knew that he’d been tortured long enough that he wouldn’t last long. He hoped he could withhold his own release until she’d come at least once again. If he could have it his own way, he would simply never come, and let her find her own pleasure over and over. Human bodies, sadly, were not built for such utility, and Erik halted her movement to stave off release a little longer.

“On your back ,” h e whispered to her, and she hastily obliged. Erik was careful to fumble for his coat to protect her against the harsh chill of the floor and he laid it out beneath her bare upper back with much care. Christine opened her legs to him again, hiking her skirt up around her waist for his ease of access. Erik lowered himself over her as gently as he could, making certain not to press  too closely against her chest and keep her from breathing beneath him. Entering her again was as easy as if he’d never left, and Christine bucked up  against him eagerly. Erik kissed her, moaning into her mouth as he started to move again. They hung onto each other by the shoulders, clinging for dear life. Erik was overcome, and he buried his face in her throat, his cock straining against her mounting pressure, clenching and unclenching around him.

“I love you,” Erik mumbled into her throat, still clutching onto her shoulders as if she might fly away without warning. Christine moaned in response, reaching down to cling to his lower back; encourage his speed.

“I love you ,” h e said again, thrusting sharply into her. Christine’s orgasm started to rear its head and she gasped beneath him.

“Maestro ,” s he answered, her voice torn with suppressed pleasure. Erik pounded into her as gently as he thought  himself capable. The friction and force  were only just enough to ensure that she would come, and not enough to risk hurting her, but Erik wished that he could fuck harder, faster, claim her as his own.

“I love you,” Erik said, a third time, in a gasp, and Christine came forcefully, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck. At the edge of her subsiding wave, Erik felt himself nearing his end, and he began to remove himself to finish outside of her, but Christine wrapped her legs around him soundly. Erik slotted himself even closer still, pinning her against him in an inescapable embrace.

“I love you ,” s he finally answered him, and Erik saw stars behind his eyelids as he came.

They returned to themselves far quicker than Erik would have liked. Christine ran her fingers through his hair, relaxing against him, her thighs still resting around his hips. Erik returned the favor, leaning on one elbow to smooth her hair back from her forehead. Things would be different, he knew, from then on. In pursuit of their coupling, Erik had opened the door to a permanent intimacy with her that was irrevocable, no matter how she wished to proceed with their relationship from that moment onward. 

Whether she chose, at their parting, to remain in some way his was for Christine alone to decide. But Erik knew that he would always remain hers. 

The words would always hang in the air between them, like music. 


End file.
